


valiant

by triforced



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Rhaegar prince of Dragonstone harbinger of death and destruction, example of your fave is problematic, in reference to me, maker of horrible decisions, ruiner of lives, why did i even write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7371391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforced/pseuds/triforced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here, at the end of her life, it is easy to remember she is just a girl of six and ten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	valiant

Here, at the end of her life, it is easy to remember that she is just a girl of six and ten.

The decisions that brought her to this tower, that led her to this room, this bed of blood and rose petals, were not a girl's decisions. They were meant for someone older, someone wiser, someone who knew more of the world than her small pocket of it (even in Dorne, so far from Winterfell, her universe is narrow, constricted, enclosed between unyielding walls).

Someone who could have foreseen the consequences and determined they were a price worth paying.

There are no decisions left to her now.

"You have a _wife_ ," she'd hissed at him, the crown prince of the realm and the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, with his long silver hair and his sad, sad eyes. She wanted to kick him in his stupid shins, prince or no prince. She wanted to take back the silly tears she'd shed over the mournful song he'd sung in the hall, no matter how the verses moved her, how the sound of his voice stirred her very soul. "You should've crowned her instead of me. What were you thinking? I am _betrothed_."

"Nevertheless, the honor was yours," Rhaegar said. He dispensed with shame (did princes feel shame?), did not bat a lash at the tone she took - and, for truth, she should've minded her tongue, but then, what business did he have, skulking off to meet with a maid in the woods in the middle of the night? "Your valor deserved a just reward, my lady."

"That was ill done," she insisted hotly, her hands upon her hips. "My prince." Perhaps his discovery of her secret made her bold, the fact that he did not and never would reveal her as the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Perhaps she took his reticence for granted, but they had already established a strange sort of rapport when first they met, among these same trees, the day she challenged three champions and bested them at the joust. She felt unbridled around him, dangerously so. She should've minded her tongue. Her hands dropped to her sides, though her gaze remained steady. "Forgive me, I have spoken out of turn."

The barest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes, though it was difficult to make out in the dark. "I would expect no less from a wolf, even one so lovely as you." He stepped closer to her, took her hands in both of his, gently. They were warm, his hands, warm and long-fingered, with hints of callus from years of plucking at harp strings, she imagined. "Would you allow me to follow your example and likewise speak out of turn?"

Her heart fluttered in her chest, though she could hardly name the cause. Break away now, she told herself. Put this behind you and never think on it again. "By all means, you're the prince."

"And what is a prince, if only just a man?"

Without pause, she replied, "A powerful man."

The corner of his mouth quirked up for a moment, long enough for her to catch. "A powerful man, aye," he conceded. His eyes searched hers and she had a terrible thought - I could lose myself in them, I could kick and scream and tread water but I'd still drown eventually. "My lady...Lyanna." Her breath caught in her throat. "Are you satisfied with your lot? Somehow, I suspect you would travel quite a different path than the one chosen for you, were you given the opportunity."

It was as if a fog lifted. She pulled her hands from his grasp, spun on her heel, stalked away from him in a fury - only to turn back after a few paces, because she was a Stark of Winterfell, she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree and damned if she'd slink off with her tail between her legs. "No, I'm not satisfied," she snapped when she stood before him again, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I've no wish to marry a man who professes love and devotion, yet will never keep to one bed. But what choice do I have? What am I to do?" Her laugh sounded bitter even in her own ears. "Disguise myself as a boy, like brave Danny Flint, and run off to the Wall? You've sung her song, I'm sure."

"I have," Rhaegar admitted, seemingly unruffled by her conduct. "A sad tale, indeed. But you are not destined for such an end." Hesitantly, he brought those long, elegant, callused fingers to her face, brushed them along her cheek, and she did not, could not move away. He regarded her as an equal, she realized suddenly, did not expect her to mask her true self behind courtesy. He was nothing like she anticipated, both larger than life and, by his own admission, just a man. Once more, her heart fluttered. "You were made for greater things."

"What do you mean?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Leaning down, he rested his forehead against hers. His skin was so very, very warm. "Save the world with me, Lyanna Stark," he said softly.

I am already drowning, she thought, as she said, "How?"

Here, at the end of her life, it is easy to remember that she is just a girl of six and ten.

A mother.

Her child resembles her; he has nothing of his father in his looks. She wept when the midwife showed her his face. _Thank the gods_.

No one will ever know, _Robert_ will never know.

"Promise me, Ned," she begs her brother at her bedside, and he promises, his eyes awash in tears she can no longer shed.

He will keep him safe, her dearest, dearest Ned. He will protect her son, will raise him as his own. Her boy will live a good life, well loved. Perhaps this is what it means to save the world, when so much has been lost.

Rhaegar cannot tell her now. He never could.

There will be no song for her.

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN FOR ASOIAF BEFORE DESPITE MY INTENSE LOVE OF IT, I think because I was intimidated? However, I've had this stewing for a while and I needed to get it out. Now seemed as good a time as any! It did not...wind up the way I was expecting, like at all, hahahahaha...ha... /drags hands down face
> 
> (I'm sorry if it sucks.)


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